


Prayers and Requests

by Silvara, Sylvara (Silvara)



Series: Keyboards and Sparks [4]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: (Author is not a native English writer), Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Jealousy, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Power-User | SU | bamf User, Relatively Spiritual, Sparks are tiny shards of a programmer's spirit, Tron Programs Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvara/pseuds/Silvara, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvara/pseuds/Sylvara
Summary: One grid-level poweruser divided by heaps of unapologetic fluff ≈equals 1.618?
Relationships: Alan Bradley & Tron, Alan Bradley/Tron, Creator & Creation - Relationship
Series: Keyboards and Sparks [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/59790
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: TRON read later





	Prayers and Requests

Their voices were barely above whispers, Alan-One's low and powerful, mellow with patience and alive with compassion, his face mirrored the wonder and affection that he felt.

The relative silence of his headquarters shielded them as if the clock and the Grid's rules couldn't reach them in this place.

No trace of the wounds the program had sustained from the virus were left on his face or the patterns of his chest.

His User had cleaned him completely.

So, Tron had had no reason to expect him to actualy come to leave the Realm of the Invisible and visit him in person... After all, the grids were functional and the highway were secure. (A Guardian once told him that Users rarely summoned programs like him when everything was fine.)

Tron had always known that Alan-One would be different.

When he had first been compiled, and everything felt wonderful, it had been an unmovable certainty. During harsh times, when his future and the grid's seemed uncertain, it had become a wish, a belief by choice rather than ignorance.

His User had walked him to his headquarters and Tron's feelings have apparently not been very subtle if Alan-One's firm lead to his rebooting station was any indication.

Now, he felt humbled and guilty for the few nanos during which his faith in his User had wavered.

And yet, despite of his will, even in this sacred and blessed moment, his analytical functions triggered and defied his faith.

_Different_... _Is he? Perhaps he is only different with you?_

Tron closed the prompt, determined not to waste any picosecond of this precious and otherworldy experience in null doubts.

"Alan-One, he murmured on a breath, and the designation alone, echoing in his signature, felt like a gift.

"I," he hesitated. "I wonder about things, but," he trailed off, unsure if prompting a user out of a mission parameters was right.

He drew his lips in a thin line. His gaze drifted down to his folded legs, the right one resting against the molding surface of his defrag station as he reclined on his side.

"Ask." (He could not help but take a moment to appreciate the strange and sweet traces of energy that rushed in their channel, along with his User's message.) "If there are things that I can answer, I will."

However deep and firm Alan-One's voice could be, beneath the tone of confidence that they shared both, his User's voice also carried a softness that filled Tron with an all-encompassing touch of peace.  
The moment felt impossibly perfect.

He knew that his User would probably never come to him again in his own world. His home was in The Invisible after all. But he couldn't let himself be greedy about this miracle. He would rather simply savor it to the fullest in raw binary.

 _Notwithstanding_... it was also his only chance to find answers to the questions that has been nagging him even since KevinFlynn had come to free him from the MCP.

"Don't be shy, now. Ask me everything you want, Tron." With an arm following his program's flank and shoulder, Alan-One gently nudged Tron. At last, his User's warming voice instilled courage in the program.

"Is it true that _you are not omnipotent_?"

There it went. He had sent the prompt. Cycles seemed to pass as he held his pointers still, waiting for Alan-One's reaction.

His User stilled and blinked for long picoseconds, frowning as he reflected on the inquiry.

"Is that one of the things Flynn said?" A byte of weariness weighted the powered voice.

"True." _(Users were always fond of a Boolean, right?)_ Alan-One smiled brightly. ( _Tron stored the confirmation for later, proud of his successful attempt at alleviating his User's mood_.)

"Well, if we can be called that, it would only be on our own systems, when we are 'connected' to... hm. When we are in a mental state of what we call 'digital flow'."

Tron imprinted the words deep in his memory.

"But even then, when it actually happens smoothly enough to be qualified as _localized omnipotency_ , it is still rare." The User's confession came with a touch of guilt whereas the program fought to smother the signs of his disappointment.

Tron hesitated again, preparing himself not to see his hopes met, this time. "Can you still hear my prayers?"

"Sadly, not at all times. While I was mentally 'connected' to one of my systems, or when I remembered being, were the only times I felt your... _messages._ " And at this, sadness returned to his User's tone.

"I have not prayed often," the program argued, somehow feeling defensive in his User's behalf even as the program struggled to parse all the information. "Most of the time, it just...felt nice to talk to you and pretend that you could hear. Even without a ping."

He caught a flicker of forlornness in his User's eyes. But Alan-One noticed him staring and pulled him closer. He couldn't see him above his neck this way and Tron suspected that Alan-One has made it on purpose even as his shin came to rest above his forehead.

He had almost forgotten that he didn't have his helmet, either. The helmet was a part of himself. He had kept it active for so long that it's absence would have felt wrong if it didn't serve the strange, glorious purpose of honoring Alan-One's request. Both his head and that of his User were naked. The circuits at his collar turned purple at the boldness of this thought.

Alan-One smiled, deep in memory.  
"To me, it only happened two times. It was like hearing forlorn thoughts that feel familiar without coming from me at the present moment. Kevin told me about the Laser. I knew that Lora's baby was already functional, yes ; but it was supposed to _send_ us in, not _copy_ us. And yet, it revealed up a world full of programs as sentient as _you_ are. People of sorts, created from our willing design, who had been striving _for years_.  
It felt wrong.  
It felt. _..terrifying_."

Despite of his words, Alan-One beamed with pride and Tron felt a warmth filling his chest.  
  
"But then," his User's smile croked a little, "we got to talk directly." He let the rest of the idea hang in the complicit silence filling in.

The program grinned, remembering the first awed words that his User had voiced after Tron had thanked him for creating him, and told Alan-One how he felt about him, and about his creation.

He looked down, through his eyelashes.  
 _Your heart is beautiful._

"And, you answered my last prayer," Tron murmured.

"Yes."

"Thank you for your help in fighting this virus."

"This is what I'm here for. You don't have to thank your User for taking care of your well-being," Alan-one mumbled.

"There are less heartful Users." The program didn't elaborate on this whisper. He had seen too many programs terminated in quarantine, to be naive about some things.

"After all, prayers are only reserved for urgent situation, or to announce myself before entering your presence, in the IO Tower. I wouldn't want to bother you for no reason." he smiled.

_Especially because, even if the IO Guardians said otherwise, Tron didn't think that many programs got answers from the free-pings they cast into the Invisible..._

Well.

However excited and bold he felt from his User's presence, he wouldn't let himself become cocky and embarrass Alan-One. Besides, if his analytical functions were right about what Tron suspected, it would be horrible to lord over other programs misery. He had been lucky and nothing more. He should not let himself forget that.

"Mh... You know," Alan-one touched the back of his neck, "the word _'prayer'_ still seems surrealist... I don't think I will ever feel comfortable to hear it."

"If it displeases you, I can use another." Tron thought for a moment. "How about _'Requesting'_?"

"Wait, why— no— _how_ do I hear a capped letter there?" There was a touch of dumbfounded surprise in the user's voice.

"Because I cast it with one," the program responded without hesitation. "This word is meant to design a very special and sacred kind of request. There should not be any confusion about it." Then, Tron remembered whom he was talking to and felt the patterns of his collar tint with purple again. "... _If_ you find it acceptable that way _, Alan-One_."

"Mh. Very well, then." There was definitely amusement in his User's tone. "Far from me the idea of getting between you and your beliefs, little one. Well, I programmed you to be very stubborn," he teased, but the pride in his eyes gave new meaning to his words. "And I trust your heart."

Trying not to focus on it and worsen his blush, Tron brushed the thought away and closed his eyes.

"Are your beliefs differents?" He wasn't sure he liked the idea of it.

"No, I don't mind it, little Spark.

"As I told you, I trust in your heart; because somehow it has learnt to love, and thus, it has become _alive_. Although at a very different scale. _And_ on a different plane."  
  
The program could barely envision how his User... no this word felt weak. He did not felt used. He felt cherished, _loved_.

His _creator_. Yes, Alan-One was his creator, his conceptor, the direct source of his consciousness.

"Creator?"

"Mh. How about just calling me Alan from now on?"

All of the program's patterns paled.

"Or not." Alan-One _pouted_. "Ok."

(His Conceptor just... Tron shook himself, wary of processing either the...not cute and fragile vision..., or the idea of addressing his wise powerful maker with such familiarity.)

He blinked, re-run a loop and got rid of garbage gathered in his main process.

"Alan-One."

"Yes?" The answer was cautious this time as the gesture that was _not_ a pout, returned, much fainter.

"Do you have preference in how I should Request you?"

"Oh. You can just keep—" His Conceptor didn't answer at first. He listened to the pointers that run along the insanely long and manifold lines of his code. "Your complete location, a summary of the thread or of your need, and the urgency of it. Would you be able to include all those in your...in your ping?"

"Certainly!"

"Then do so. In this order of priority. This should help in...this should help."

As his Conceptor seemed shaken and he felt humbled by what they were discussing, a new silenced gently set on them. It was only after a few milliseconds that the dared to ask something more.

"Are you..." No. He would not doubt about that. He couldn't keep running like that. There would be no question about his Conceptor's ability to protect him.

" _Will_ you protect me, even if you are not always omnipotent," his distress must have been heard, because Alan-One lifted his arm and set it against his head. His fingers were aglow with otherworldly energy as they threaded through his hair, tingling across his scalp; but he didn't seem to notice it.

A long silence answered and when his Conceptor spoke again, the easy companionship and most of the strength of their intimacy felt gone.

"I will find ways to. I will not rest before I have made sure of your safety. In this runtime and in those that will follow, Tron." Alan-One's voice was so grave and intense that it felt like an echo in his mind.

He didn't know what to say or if he should cast anything, then. If the users weren't still holding him close, he would have scooped back in order to kneel and ask for his forgiveness, but when he tried to move Alan-One's grip on him tightened.

"What would you ask if you were allowed to Request now?" He blinked again, resetting his pointers in surprise.

"Even if there is no urgency," his Conceptor precised, beginning to anticipate his program's thought.

Well, he... had so many questions... but he felt wary of imposing on his Conceptor's generosity.

Yet again, the otherworldly energy streaming from his Conceptor's touch was buzzing everywhere around of him... and before he could say so, he felt it focus and fill in one of the patters on his back. He paused his process and waited.

"How about up to three _Requests_?" Alan-One gently prodded him on, as he stopped the light movement of his fingers to bring two on Tron's jaw and brush them along his chin.

"You just tell me, and I decide on the if and how?" he suggested; and there, a little smile drew and crooked itself on his lips.

"Y-true," Tron responded automatically before he could find what to ask. The first thing that came to his mind felt painful and he wasn't sure that it was something that should ever be requested to begin with. But then again, Alan-One had told him not to think about the 'if's...

"Can I ask for information first?"

"Of course."

He wanted to lift his head but didn't feel the courage to meet his Conceptor in the eyes when he asked.

"Do you have news of the User—" he searched his databases for the identifier of Ram's Conceptor for a few picos. "Rσγ?"

This time Alan-One hands stilled.

{Alan tried to make the identifier R-sigma-gamma correspond to a name. After arranging the letters differently, he tried to imagine how they would sound in Greek, then in English...}

"Ram's Conceptor. His Maker."

Alan-One eyes widened, rounded. "Roy?" He ushered softly as if the word could hurt him. "You mean Roy Kleinberg?"

"If this is his full name."

His Conceptor closed his eyes and massaged his eyelids, seeming to struggle with himself.

"Roy isn't...he doesn't work here anymore."

"He is no longer going to create or to feed his programs on the grids?"

The User nodded.

"That's it; he won't be able to do anything on the Encom Intranet, anymore."

Without being able to understand why or to put a name on that phenomenon, Tron felt like mourning in the behalf of his derezzed friend. The bitterness in Alan-One's voice and the apathy in his eyes brought up a faint shudder in the program.

"Is he hurt?" (Could Users be hurt in their world? Who knew what happened in The Realms of the Invisible?)

{Yes.}

"No. He felt forced to leave. To go and work on far away systems different to...those."

"Why?"

"All of his programs were taken from him. And he refused to create more that—more who might know the same fate."

Alan-One still had a distant look when he passed and arm around him. Firmly and easily, he pulled his own program closer without seeming to notice it.

But the news cast Tron himself in a heavy and grim silence. Beyond of the renewed grief, the network monitor felt a diffuse cold fear invade his patterns.

_If Ram's Conceptor had many programs, how many did Alan-One?_

Perhaps he had been naive, had shown himself conceited because of his self-delusions.

He had thought himself special. Now he felt younger than even and so clueless about the future. _If one cycle, his Conceptor left these Grids forever...would he even be able to know?_

He both strongly did and didn't want to know and the contradiction hurt like liquid fire through his patterns.

Before he could experience the feeling of jealousy, he felt his body being gently nudged. Snapping out of his thoughts, he realized that he was completely engulfed in Alan-One's embrace. The flavored energy of his signature echoed inside of him, in pulses with the system clock.

He focused on the measure of peace and comfort that it brought to his code and his Spark both, even as he forced himself to shake off the remnants of his wistfulness. _(Miracles happened once. Not twice. And yet...)_

"Tron? ... Are you alright?"

His Conceptor's clear and powerful voice brought him back to present reality. He searched something to answer with, and the new insecurities came up to live memory again.

(...He refused to explore them. There would be enough time to torture himself later. He would not let them ruin this moment.

Briefly fighting the sudden temptation to assault his User with many more questions about his world and elements of the Guardians' stories, he forced a smile.

"Yes," by some miracle, he found a way around of the jumbled garbage that the uncomfortable data overload generated in his unused functions and managed to keep his voice steady.

For some reason, despite of his affirmative, the User's patient wait carried a vague skepticism—oh. He has not used a Boolean this time.

(Well. Too late.) Caring little about showing a strong front anymore, he snuggled further into Alan-One's chest —heard an echo to his gasp as their patterns accidentally linked, opening empty data channels— and caught the... _his_ Conceptor's legs between his own, into a fast lock.

"I know what I want."

Alan-One puzzled prompt and the pink circuit on his chest only vaguely registered in the recess of a metafunction; Tron was busy arranging his Request in a fashion he found almost acceptable, as he stubbornly ignored the feeling of imposing himself.

"When you won't have further need of me, when you won't keep blessing me in writing,"

These words were the easiest part; the _end of use_ was something natural, even if the expectation of having his Spark slowly disentangle itself from his code frightened him as much as the next program. He could imagine himself aging and feeling his Spark leave, as long as he had Yori. Yet... Running in a world where he knew Alan-One was no more, was another matter entirely and not something that he could bear to think about.

(He dearly hoped that Yori would understand. He would have prayed that she would. The irony choked him for a pico.)

"You will Terminate me painlessly, right?"

"Ah... hem, I don't think I understand... Repeat that, please?"

Tron blinked, unsure. Then he repeated; and his Conceptor's arms felt completely lax.

When the program realized that he wasn't hearing his maker's pointers anymore, he began to panic. _But by the Towers, what did he say?_

"Forgive me, please, Alan-One—" he went up to his knees and shook his head vehemently. "I did not want to cast that as a doubt! I know that you will remember me and give me your _Mercy_. You have only shown care and patience and it would be very unfair to imply that you might not honor _our connection_!"

His maker's expression was blank, and his whole body felt despondent.

"Alan-One? Please, respond." With something that was getting closer and closer to despair amidst of the fog of his mounting panic, the program bent on his maker's now prone form, looking for any anomaly that could have thrown him into a loop.

He was about to deepen his search by tracing a scan on his chest when Alan-One's arms closed on his and pulled.

Flush against his maker's chest, his face in his neck, he was unable to see his face. Something that radiated like faint energy was moving on his face and he tried to push up to see what it was. But Alan-One's arms held him too fast. He took relief in the fact that he was no longer apathetic.

"Is that what you want? Termination. In case of... If you are no longer needed on the Intranet?"

He blinked. "If you have no more use of me...if you can't instruct me, or bless me in reading and writing anymore...please...yes."

"Very well. I give you my word that I will locate you and let you know if this ever come to be. If there is a way to make it peaceful and painless for you, if it is still what you desire, then I'll find a way to give you what you ask."

Actually, Tron had a different idea on his main thread when he had mentioned _termination. B_ ut from the way his Conceptor has reacted even before the program could formulate his wish, Tron was certainly not going to say anything about it. The assurance of a proper _termination_ from the hands of his own Conceptor was a precious assurance and two Requests left were more than he had hoped for.

"Ok." Alan-One nudged him up from his shoulders. He touched his program's cheek with the palm of his hand and attempted a smile. There were glistening trails on both of his.

"I said three Requests, didn't I? You owe me two more, program."

Despite of how shaken up Tron felt at seeing Alan-One's reaction, he couldn't help but smile back.

The program pressed his face in his Conceptor's hand and looked down to the signature pattern at his neck.

Asking for his maker to come back felt wrong. Alan-One had somehow defied the rules of the Invisible to come to him like KevinFlynn had. To save him. He couldn't expect a miracle to repeat itself on his behalf alone. Even if it was to say goodbye on his last day.

This time, he would not ask for information; he would go straight to the point and expose his request.

He reckon the thread of their exchange and an idea, insane and heretic in itself fought up to his main process. It felt wrong, but it seemed so wonderful and the thought, the thought of it alone dimmed his patterns in its dread and wonder.

He parted his lips and considered, hesitating for a while with the possibility. And stopped thinking. His maker was the owner of his ifs and how; he wouldn't insult him with something like fear of heresy. Who was to decide of what was right or wrong between Alan-One and him if not his maker himself?

Confirmed.

(He _cast his location_.)

"If you find it amenable, Alan-One, _restore_ Roy Kleinberg's actuarial program of serial" and he actually sent Ram's serial "that was quarantined by the MCP to these grids. This, as soon as it will be convenient. End of line."

Alan-One blinked belatedly again, the formality making a blush rise to his cheeks.

He drew himself up on his elbows and scooped back to recline against the wall. His chest rose and lowered slowly several times before he spoke again.

"Was he your friend?"

"Yes." Tron lowered his head.

"His company and support made the games much more bearable." If his termination was not from his User's will, then, perhaps..."

Alan-One pressed his lips in a thin line.

"Perhaps he could be _returned_...by _another_?" he finished gravely and Tron nodded, unable to look in his eyes.

"I'm afraid that it would not be something wise to do."

A blowing sound hallowed his maker's chest, then shrank it back.

"I mean, I might be able to bring your friend back, Tron. But even if I did, he would age quickly...his code would throw more and more exceptions until it would end up slowly corrupted.

"In the best scenario."

By the milliseconds that it took him to browse his database to translate the user-terms into a more compatible meaning, he felt old and a bottomless sadness dug itself through his patterns.

"To avoid that and maintain him, to update his code... without his programmer's signature, I would have to hurt him. _Deeply._ "

He had only been running for two of the users' cycles, but what he had seen done by the MCP had weighted on him until KevinFlynn's visit. And when he had been able to set eyes on his own Conceptor, on Alan-One's face; a face which familiarity felt like an honor; he had been filled with irrational hopes. Nothing had seemed impossible anymore.

"If your friend had a _Spark,_ just like you; then it might be maimed over time. And even during his runtime on your system, he would never be the same."

_Their Conceptors were not omnipotent._

He didn't know if it was so for all of them, but he couldn't bring himself to imagine any more likely than Alan-One to have such powers. It seemed that no User had been what they thought. What _he_ had wanted to think, rather; despite of the Guardians' words.

"If you need closure from your runtime at some point, and if your friend would have needed it too...would he be happy if it was _another_ who came to give it?" Alan shook his head in sadness. "What if he grew to mourn _Rσγ_? That decision, taken in his stead might hurt him more in the end..."

His maker set a warm hand atop of his on his lap, and he stared into its brightness, until it blinded him to his surroundings.

"I am sorry."

...He didn't know how to find the energy to respond properly.

"However," (his pointers slowed, pulsating louder in his functions as Alan-One's fainter voice, trailed on),

"I happen to know _Rσγ_ well enough. If I am not mistaken, I would say that his Spark is safe and his code resting somewhere close to his maker right now."

His eyes widened in awe as he contemplated his maker's words and they stood silent in that manner for a while, giving Ram a few milliseconds of silence.

He waited for all of his processes to refresh and lifted his head again to meet Alan-One's eyes. There, he met a deep compassion, and the strength of it hit stronger even that he had imagined all the times he had fantasized about this moment. Just like when the virus had crawled on up to his signature pattern and he had been convinced that he was about to return to his Conceptor's mind, once again a small and naked Spark of his powerful will...

This disarming tenderness weakened his resolve and a little of his earlier wistfulness rose to his main process. It must had shown on his face for Alan-One firmly schooled his own changing expression and wordlessly opened his arms.

Tron couldn't help but pout even as he crawled forth in the lap of his Conceptor.

Reverently, he pressed his face in the warm expanse of his maker's neck in a place where no patterns radiated, and drew his knees up against the Conceptor's flanks.

When the silence became thin and the normal noises of his headquarters draped over them, Alan-One's fingers dialed a tuneless rhythm between two segments of blue energy and it soothed his pointers.

"There are so many things that the Guardians say about you...about what we become after..." he didn't finish, not keen on weighting gloom on the pleasant peace that he shared with his maker.

"The Guardians say that fate switches on many cases, and Kevin said that they were all possible..."

He couldn't see Alan-One's face then, only the slowing of his fingers along the lengths of his code patterns betrayed anything of his mood. He turned his head up toward his maker's jaw.

"Is it true, that I will see you again after everything is over... after I am no longer running?"

A long moment of silence passed, the caress of white energized fingers becoming more focused, almost purposeful. As Alan-One traced harmless constants along the channels of his patterns, Tron fought with his energy to keep it from turning any pinker than purple, and wondered if his maker was aware of what he was doing to him.

"I don't know," was the answer that came, solemn yet candid.

"As my Spark, your consciousness will be in me, become me; and your memories will fuse with mine, and you will feel completely _home._ This, I now know with every fiber of my being, Tron. But if you ask me whether you will be remade as a program, I do not know. It is possible. Probable. I might have a new place for you, later.

"Would you want to return?"

"I am not sure. I want to be able to communicate to you. To serve you." _And so many other things._

Alan-One beamed down at him. "That, you will, Tron. Without any possible doubt."

The program let a blazing smile lift his face and he closed his eyes.

It felt good to have a couple of beliefs confirmed at last.

"Is there anything else that I could do for you, my Spark? Anything that you need?" Alan-One murmured faintly.

He lifted a hand to the signature pattern of his User and watched the white energy infuse through the dots of his palm as registration data rushed along his arm, up to his disk port. Usage permissions opened, his pointers realigned in pale blue dashes of light following his code patterns, synchronizing themselves to his Conceptor's heartbeat.

The future felt more interesting than ever.

"Alan-One...Your promises are all that I ever needed to run in peace. ...I cannot think of anything else right now... Well, anything not menial.

"However, it is true that I, I have lacked confidence when you are silent. If I had an external memento of you...something that anyone would recognize as yours..."

"Mh..."

His Conceptor turned toward the farthest wall of his resting chamber and rose on his elbow.

On the data shelf fixed there came to burn a shining light. When it dimmed completely, it left a mysterious device identical to the one he wore on his face.

"This is called a pair of glasses," Alan-One softly explained. Threads of translucent blue data silently flowed from his Conceptor's chest and into the item.

"They won't be of much use, but they will let you, or any program who holds them, see a few of my memories when I first arrived on this system and learnt to use it from _the inside_. They are powered by my energy for many cycles to come and hold my energy signature. I don't think there is anything quite similar to them in your world.

"The... _powers_ that I learn to use in these memories are only accessible to users, so they won't be a liability to this system's security. Also, these glasses will integrate with you just as your normal gear does, so you won't have to worry about losing them." Alan-One blinked away from the relic and the data streams stopped.

"Even when I couldn't be by your side, in spirit and in heart, my own Creator and I guided you. You will never be truly alone, because you are the child of my mind; and in my mind, as in my heart, you'll always belong. Do not heed those who doubt the existence of Users. You have two makers and you are cherished. _You_ are _my Spark_."

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of prayers as pings directed at a User's designation or signature, beyond all digital frontiers belongs to Girl_of_Action, who has helped in brainstorming much of my most recent headcanon.
> 
> Here, Tron technically still have one more Request left but there was a miscommunication between him and Alan. His User considered him asking for confirmation about his natural termination as the first request, while what he really meant to ask was if he could come back inside of the Grids to terminate him.And after Alan's brains almost melted out his ears from the little culture shock, Tron is afraid to say anything more about the topic. Besides, later, while talking about Ram, his User implied that he would certainly come back to do it in person for him. That was just enough for Tron to feel confident about it and his first request fulfilled. His last request was to get to see his User again after his termination. This one was very implicit. I wanted the flow of the conversation to be smooth, realist and so instead of having three clearly cut requests, the characters miscommunicate merrily. I only hope that the end result is not frustrating.
> 
> They forced me to write this:  
> • [I Say, "Why Not?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/391659)  
> • [Repeat Query](https://archiveofourown.org/works/296416)


End file.
